“Agreed,” I said. I sat on the edge of the nest, close enough to touch but giving her space. “But we need to talk about practical matters. About what happens next.”
Sable’s expression shifted, walls starting to rebuild. “Already? We’ve been bonded for less than a day and you want to talk logistics?”
“I want to make sure you’re protected. That we have plans in place for contingencies.”
“Dane thinks planning prevents problems,” Beau said from the doorway, where he’d apparently followed me upstairs. “I tried to explain that relationships don’t work that way, but old habits die hard.”
“It’s not about control,” I started.
“Isn’t it?” Sable’s voice was sharper now, her professional coordinator tone replacing the soft intimacy from moments before. “Because it sounds like you’re trying to organize pack dynamics the same way you’d organize a tactical operation.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Then what are you doing?” She pulled away slightly, and I felt the distance through the bond like physical pain. “Because from where I’m sitting, it seems like you’re already trying to manage me. Make decisions for me. Plan my life without asking what I want.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need protecting, Dane. I need a partner. An equal. Someone who asks instead of tells.” Her dark amber eyes were fierce, the omega who’d coordinated an entire emergency response without breaking a sweat. “I didn’t bond you so you could become another alpha who thinks my independence is a problem to solve.”
The accusation hit harder than it should have. Because she was right. I’d been planning how to protect her, how to manage potential problems, how to coordinate our lives together without once asking what she actually wanted.
“You’re right,” I said, the words difficult but necessary. “I’m trying to control the situation because not controlling things scares me. Because the last time I wasn’t in control, six men died.”
Sable’s expression softened slightly. “What happened to your team wasn’t your fault.”
“Logically, I know that. Emotionally, I’m still convinced that if I’d planned better, anticipated the threats more thoroughly, maintained tighter control of the operation, they’d still be alive.”
“And now you’re applying that same logic to pack dynamics,” Silas observed, his scent-sensitivity probably reading all thecomplicated emotions flowing between us. “Trying to prevent problems before they happen. Trying to protect Sable from threats that might not even exist.”
“Yes.” The admission felt like defeat. “I don’t know how to care about people without trying to protect them from everything. Including themselves.”
“Then you need to learn,” Sable said firmly. “Because I won’t be managed, Dane. I won’t be protected from my own choices. I won’t be treated like I’m fragile just because I’m omega.”
“You’re not fragile. You’re precious. There’s a difference.”
The words came out more raw than I intended, exposing vulnerability I usually kept locked down. But through the bond, I could feel her surprise. Her walls starting to crack again.
“Explain the difference,” she said quietly.
I moved closer, drawn by the bond and by the need to make her understand. “Fragile things break easily. They need constant protection, careful handling, shields from any potential harm. But precious things are valuable. Rare. Worth protecting not because they’re weak, but because losing them would be devastating.”
“You think I’m precious,” she said, and I couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement.
“I know you are. You’re the strongest person I’ve met. You coordinate emergency responses without flinching. You rebuilt your entire life after public humiliation. You took on three broken alphas and somehow made us believe we deserved another chance at a pack.” I reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away, and cupped her face when she didn’t. “That kind of strength is precious. Rare. Something I want to protect not because you need protection, but because I can’t imagine existing in a world where you don’t feel safe.”
“Dane.” Her voice cracked slightly. “That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“It’s also controlling,” I admitted. “Because my instinct is to protect you from everything, including discomfort and difficult choices and consequences you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself.”
“So what do we do about that?” she asked.
“We figure it out together. You tell me when I’m overstepping. I work on asking instead of telling. We learn how to be partners instead of coordinator and subject.”
“Partners,” she repeated, and through the bond I felt her testing the word, seeing if it fit. “I’ve never been partners with an alpha before. Nathan wanted submission. You’re offering equality.”
“I’m offering the truth. That you’re stronger than I am in ways I’m still learning to understand. That your competence doesn’t threaten me. That I need you to be exactly who you are, including the parts that challenge me.”
She pulled me down for a kiss, and through the bond I felt her walls crumble a little more. Felt her choosing to trust despite every past experience telling her not to.
